" He patted her hand. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. “For no other reason than you talk too much.
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